A Long, Long Match
by breezyme
Summary: Harry and co., finally ready to be seen in public, two years after the final battle of Hogwarts; Rita Skeeter, desperate for a story; Oliver Wood, in his first year as Puddlemere captain, just wanting a spectacular first match of the season.
1. Rita Skeeter Has Found Her Mojo Again

**Chapter 1: Rita Skeeter Has Found Her Mojo... Again_  
_**

_Update on: The Boy-Who-Lived_

_by Rita Skeeter_

_Just _what_ has Harry Potter been up to for the past two years? Me, myself, and I decided we'd like to know._

_After several days of trying to track down Mr. Potter and, failing that, his old schoolmates, it became clear that the Boy-Who-Lived had learned how to keep his private life under wraps. So, distraught over my lack of ability to bring my _dear_ readers the updates you all so desperately crave, but still needing to meet deadlines, I decided to take my editor up on the offer to interview Puddlemere United for their upcoming match against the Ballycastle Bats._

_Now, sports don't interest me overly much, but I decided that my dear readers probably would like an update on the lives of England's favorite Quidditch team just as much as an update on our favorite hero. After all, a couple of the players were there for the final battle two years ago, and fought alongside the Boy-Who-Lived._

_So, off to Puddlemere U's home pitch I went, fully intending to get Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood's autographed photo for a dear friend of mine, as I had promised, but much to my disappointment, Oliver Wood was not with his teammates in the lounge. When pressed on the issue, Beater Jim Scovil revealed that Wood was "having a spat" with the team manager, Philbert Deverill. Scovil's declaration was received with glares from the rest of the team, making me immediately suspicious. Why was our Captain arguing with his team's manager? The two's relationship is almost famously amicable; what could they be fighting about?_

_Chaser Katie Bell quickly clapped a hand over Scovil's mouth before he could utter another word. Smiling cheerily, she chirped, "Oh, you know, just wants to give us more practices!"_

"_Deverill or Wood?" I asked._

"_Er, well…" she glanced to fellow Chaser Angelina Johnson._

"_Both!" interjected Johnson. I glared at them suspiciously._

_Before I could ask another question, however, we heard loud, arguing voices approaching. Bell and Johnson groaned loudly as Seeker Leah Morren buried her face in Beater Geoffrey Hatcher's chest._

"_Not again," Bell muttered._

"_We do _not_ need press coverage of this match!" the unmistakable Scottish brogue of Wood's voice rang out. "Look, Harry and his friends have been through enough in a lifetime, do they really deserve to be pestered by the press?"_

"_They can handle it, Oliver," Deverill calmly stated. "I'm sure Harry's used to it," he said just as he opened the door to the lounge. At which time, he saw _me_, quick quotes quill hurriedly taking the scene in. "Bloody hell Skeeter, what are _you_ doing _here?_ You don't cover sports."_

"_I heard that!" I yelled over my shoulder to Chaser Roger Davies' muttered "thank Merlin."_

_Meanwhile, Wood was staring at me with mouth agape. "Damn it Skeeter, get _out!_"_

_Quickly tossing my things in to my bag, I grinned. "Not a problem, Wood. I've already got what I needed."_

_So, folks, seems as if our favorite hero is going to be rooting for Puddlemere on Saturday. The only question is, where will _you_ be?_

* * *

"Oh dearest editor!" Rita sang out as she entered the office of the Daily Prophet. "Have _I _got a juicy story _pour vous!_"

"What now, Skeeter?" a short, disgruntled old man asked. "I sent you out to write a story on Puddlemere's players, and you _better _have come back with one."

"Oh, I interviewed them, no need to worry on that account, Mr. Steimer. But, I've also got news concerning the latest whereabouts of one Harry Potter!"

"So?" Mr. Steimer asked, clearly unimpressed.

"So? _So?_ Harry Potter has remained out of the public eye for _two years – _"

"Yes, due to the rest of the Wizarding World respectfully _giving him some peace_ – "

" – but, as I'm sure you are well aware, my readers are _ravenous _for the latest news on our savior, and I _fully intend _to give it to them!"

"Skeeter, just hand me the article," he commanded. Pouting slightly, she did as told, watching him with a small amount of apprehension as he scanned the article. "It's good," he admitted. "But _this _article is finished. Where's the story you promised?"

"Well, Mr. Steimer, if you could just _get me into Harry Potter's box_ – "

"Skeeter, your lack of the notion of privacy is appalling." Rita merely shrugged, and at this Mr. Steimer grinned. "But it's _exactly _what makes you a great journalist. Even if you are overly fond of hyperbole – "

"I resent that!"

" – there always lies at least a bit of truth in your stories. And you know how to write a damn good article." Rita positively glowed; just because she was a little, erm, _persistent _in her pursuits, did not mean she undervalued some well-placed praise.

"So?" she asked tentatively.

"I'll try and work it out, Skeeter, but no promises. And you're covering the Quidditch match, as _well _as Harry's life."

"_Wonderful_," Rita beamed. "My readers will surely want to hear my take on Quidditch!"

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Mr. Steimer grudgingly admitted the truth in this statement. "Just, be gentle, yeah? You have to remember that he saved your arse as well."

"Of course, of course." She dismissed his cares with a wave of her hand. "Just a small update on the life of the wizarding world's savior. Nothing _vicious_," she promised, fingers crossed behind her back. Never let it be said that _Rita Skeeter_ didn't pursue a story worth pursuing…


	2. Preparations

**Chapter 2: Preparations**

"Oi, Morren! Don't go pulling a bloody Wronski feint unless we're really behind! You know better!"

"We're _practising_, Captain dearest, in case you didn't notice. Besides, our match against the Bats could easily take a turn for the worst. Best practise Wronski feints now instead of later, yeah?"

"Lay _off_, Oliver. Don't take out Skeeter-induced rage on a your team! Besides, Morren's right."

"Stuff it, Johnson, I don't need commentary from the peanut gallery to captain my own team!" Oliver roared. Angelina rolled her eyes, and turned to Katie and Roger, muttering, "Bloody wanker. Katie?" Katie shook her head furiously.

"No. I've done it the past two days."

"C'mon, Kats, Oliver'll only hear it from his best Chaser."

"Stop buttering me up, Roger. It won't work." Katie crossed her arms, resolute.

"Oi, Oliver! Katie's got something to say to you!" Angelina yelled.

"No I don't!" Katie insisted.

"C'mon, Bell, spit it out! You've never been _shy_ before."

Katie glared at her fellow Chasers, eyes narrowed. "_Fine_ then. Angelina needs to work on feinting left," she said. Roger stifled his laughter upon the look Katie sent him. "And Roger can't pull a Porskoff Ploy to save his life! And oh," she added, for good measure, "your Double Eight Loop lacks a certain… finesse. You might want to work on that, seeing as how the Bats are going to be getting at least a couple of penalty shots from Jim and Geoff's failed attempts at Transylvanian Tackles, which they've been practising for the past month or so."

Oliver rounded on the two Beaters, murder written all over his face. "You've been practising _what _for the past month?" The two had time to send quick glares Katie's way before Oliver launched into a furious rant on the unlikeliness of actually being able to pull of such a move. Such a rant was the reason the two had been practising this move _in__ secret._

"Are you barking?" Angelina whispered furiously. "We'll never leave the pitch at this rate! Why do you always have to get him so riled up before matches?" Katie shrugged.

"Kats, you can't do this anymore! He's the captain now, there's nobody to go over his head except Bert, and he's never at practises!" Roger joined in. Katie rolled her eyes, unperturbed.

"Please, he'll get over it tonight after he goes home and nurses his ego with whatever utter shite _Witch__ Weekly_'s churned out this week."

"_No__ he __won__'__t_," Angelina whispered furiously. "He's going to go do something stupid, like practising the Starfish and Stick a couple thousand feet up in the air."

"Please, Wood's not _that _thick."

"_Yes __he __is_, and you know it!" Angelina glared at Katie as she said, "I don't know what your problem with Oliver is, but you've _got_ to let it go!"

"I don't have a problem with Wood," Katie muttered.

"Yes, you do."

"So what if there is a problem?"

"So, you need to solve it, _before_ the match tomorrow, for the sake of the team!"

"Well, like I said before, there _is_ no problem, except Wood being a BLOODY QUIDDITCH NAZI!" she sneered, glaring in his direction. He took no notice, still tearing into his Beaters.

"Kats, what happened? I'm your friend, you can tell me!"

"You want me to end practise? Fine." And then, glaring, she pushed Angelina off her broom.

Roger frantically dove after her, and Oliver turned around at the sound of her scream. His eyes widened then quickly traveled up to where Katie hovered, arms crossed.

"BELL!" he roared. Katie jutted out her chin aggressively. "TEAM MEETING, LOCKER ROOM, _NOW!_"

* * *

Oliver was implacable; Angelina and Roger were glaring at Katie and Jim, Geoff, and Leah didn't look any more pleased with her. "Bell, this is just… _unforgivable._"

Katie merely rolled her eyes. "Please, Wood, it's not that bad."

"You just pushed your teammate off her broom! She could've _died!_"

"Oh, please, I knew Roger would catch her."

"I can't let this go unpunished, Bell! Hell, I don't _want _to let this go unpunished. _You__ crossed __a __line!_"

Katie stood, clenching her fists. "How many laps this time, Captain? Or bleacher sprints? Mayhaps push-ups, yes, I'm in need of a good core-"

"I'm going to put Smith in your place as starting Chaser."

"WHAT?" Katie yelled, incredulous. Indeed, Angelina straightened her back at this as well. "That pathetic excuse for a former Hogwarts student?"

"He's good," Oliver said, "knows how to follow orders." He glared at her pointedly.

"C'mon now, Ol, surely this isn't _that_ drastic?" Angelina insisted. "Pick another reserve. Like… Hazelrigg! Yeah, Hazelrigg's _brilliant _at Parkin's Pincer!"

"Smith's the default replacement. It'd have to be Smith."

"He'd fake an injury as soon as a Bludger came within a metre of his precious face!" Katie raged. "That Puffer _ran _from the Battle as soon as he could!" Geoff, Leah and Jim shuffled about uncomfortably whilst Roger and Angelina nodded.

"Well maybe _some_ people have more sense than others!" Oliver shouted, face quickly turning an alarming shade of purple. "Maybe _some_ people know when to run!"

Angelina and Roger quickly joined the ranks of their confused teammates as Katie bellowed: "Well, _sometimes __the __risk __is__ worth __it!_"

"Go start your bleacher sprints. We'll see how _defiant_ you're feeling in an hour."

As Katie and Oliver stormed off in separate directions, their teammates politely pretended not to notice the tears on each of their faces.

* * *

"Any changes?" Philbert Deverill asked as Oliver sat down in his office.

"No, Bert, still the same," Oliver said wearily, propping his elbows on Bert's desk. He promptly plopped his face into his hands. "It's not as if I'd put Smith in, after all. You're not going to renew his contract, are you?"

"You kidding me? As soon as this season's over Smith is _gone._ My debt'll be paid, although his mother really could've used it for something better, like season tickets for life. Even with those games we let him pay last year there's _no__way_ he's going to get picked up by another team."

"Good," Oliver grunted. "He's a pansy of the particularly effeminate variety."

"Now, now, Oliver, what would our two female Chasers say to that? Why, it sounded almost _sexist_."

"You know what I mean," Oliver said, waving his hand dismissively. "Besides," and here his eyes hardened: "I don't care what Bell thinks, so long as she plays like she's supposed to."

"Merlin, what've the two of you gone and done now?"

"More like what _she__'__s_ gone and done now," Oliver grumbled.

"Tut, tut," Bert admonished, amused. "It takes two to tango. And you and Miss Bell are certainly fond of dancing."

"I recall her as being more into the waltz," Oliver joked.

"I'm sure you'd do the bloody Hokey Pokey if it meant you'd get to dance with her," Bert laughed. Oliver looked confused. "Er, Muggle dance. Ridiculous, really. Lacks requirement of any skill other than the ability to put certain parts of your body in and 'shake them all about.'"

Oliver blinked. "Is it American?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Ah. Bloody Americans don't even play Quidditch."


	3. And So We Begin

**Chapter 3: And So We Begin**

The next day was even more tense than normal. Oliver and Katie threw glares at each other as they, Angelina, and Roger walked up from the locker rooms to the box where Harry and company were seated. The four of them had pooled together their two free box seats apiece to invite Harry and his friends to the game. ("We'll pool our tickets together for some of your schoolmates next game," Angelina had promised Roger.)

The atmosphere up in the box, however, was no better. Hermione was shooting glares at Rita Skeeter, who had managed to get tickets into the box; Angelina had promptly sat down next to an unnaturally-although, after losing Fred, it had become more natural-silent George Weasley upon arrival; Roger slowly settled into a lively debate about Quidditch with Harry, Ginny and Ron; Luna was chatting Neville's ear off about some creature her favourite author, Newt Scamander, had found; and Katie Bell was managing to simultaneously chat animatedly with Alicia Spinnet and shoot glares at Oliver.

Which left Oliver with no one to talk to.

No one to talk to, that is, except _Rita__ Skeeter._

"Oliver Wood!" she greeted saccharinely. "How _do_ you do? Come, sit, sit!" she said, shoving a bent old woman Oliver vaguely recognised as Leah's grandmother aside. "Let's chat!"

Oliver sent both her and Katie another glare as he helped Mrs. Morren up and dusted her off. "Thanks, Skeeter, but I'm good."

Unperturbed, she continued. "So, I heard there was a little… _dispute_ last night at practise. Care to comment?"

"You heard wrong," Oliver assured her. "The team is a well-oiled machine."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Rita said dismissively. "But is everyone… _happy?_"

Angelina, noticing the quick quotes quill working furiously in the background, quickly answered for him. "Oh yes. We all just _love _Oliver," she said, positively dripping fake cheer and good will.

"Angelina Johnson! And George Weasley, no less. Tell me, George – "

"Skeeter, over here!" Ron yelled. "Hermione and I would like to make an announcement, and we think the best way to do that'd be through your column." As Rita approached them with her chest proudly puffed out, Angelina sent him a grateful glance. Sensing that George could use a distraction, Oliver quickly strode over to George and Angelina, tactfully forgetting to inquire about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; George was still rather sensitive about his twin's death, and had mostly left the shop to be run by Verity, their assistant.

"Well," Roger said, reluctantly rising from his position after checking his watch. "We really should get going." With nods of assent, Angelina, Katie, and Oliver rose and walked with him back into the hall.

* * *

"Hello, folks, and _welcome_ to the first match of the season…"

"Is that _Lee?_" Angelina exclaimed gleefully. Oliver strained to hear; it did, indeed, sound as though Lee Jordan was commentating on this match. Katie laughed loudly.

"I can't believe it! This match is going to be _so__ entertaining._ The Bats won't know what hit 'em!"

"Er, if you don't mind my asking, who's Lee?" Leah piped up.

"Lee Jordan, an old schoolmate of ours, who used to commentate on Hogwarts Quidditch matches," Roger explained. "He can get rather, er, _distracted _from the actual match, but he's always a riot when he does."

"I expect we'll be hearing _at __least _a couple 'Bell' and 'Wood' jokes," Angelina remarked dryly. "After all, he hasn't been able to use them for years."

From inside the locker rooms they could hear Lee ending a brief history of Puddlemere's triumphs, and Jim, Geoff and Leah were snorting every time he punctuated a victory with a remark such as, "…not nearly as impressive as that Snitch capture Harry made in his first game, but hey, this is what they wanted me to say…" Oliver was certain Lee would never commentate on another professional Quidditch match again.

They all straightened, however, as they heard the familiar, "…and now the players! For Ballycastle we have Captain and Beater, Finbar Quigley!" Quigley entered to a smattering of polite applause, quickly followed by the rest of the players as Lee rattled them off. After they heard him shout "Elmann!" everybody mounted their brooms, ready to zoom out onto the field.

"And now, the home team, PUDDLEMERE UNITED!" The cheers were deafening as Lee shouted, with considerably more enthusiasm than he had previously, "Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood! Followed by Johnson, Bell, Davies, Scovil, Hatcher and Morren!"

As the ref rattled off the usual speech about a good, clean game, Oliver appraised the opposing Captain; Quigley appeared to be doing the same. Squeezing eachother's hands tightly during the hand shake, Oliver nodded slightly, receiving one in turn from Quigley.

The referee released the the Bludgers, followed by the Snitch, and then grabbed the Quaffle. "Mount your brooms!" the ref shouted, doing the same. How he planned to referee anything on a Cleansweep Eleven when every player there was riding a Firebolt or better was a mystery to Oliver. "And… go!"

Oliver launched into the air and zoomed towards the goalposts as the ref lobbed the Quaffle into the air; Oliver cursed as Analee Rapanott, one of the Bats' Chasers, caught it.

"And they're off!" Lee cried. "Rapanott passes to O'Brien, passes to Ivarone, back to O'Brien, to – brilliant steal by the lovely Ms. Bell! Have you ever heard her laugh? Like tinkling _bells!_" Oliver winced at the all-too-familiar joke. "Oh, right! Anyways, Bell, still in possession of the Quaffle – "

"Pass it off Bell! Quit hogging the Quaffle!" Oliver yelled.

" – and Bell, going off the advice of her Captain, throws it behind her right shoulder to Davies. Davies catches it! He's closing in on the scoring area and – he passes it to Johnson just before reaching the scoring area! Johnson shoots for the right hoop, and SCORES! Although, to be fair, Pannhoff barely missed it, and feints are Davies's specialty. Johnson catches the Quaffle in its descent, but is forced to roll over and drop it as the Bats' beater Elkin shoots a well-aimed Bludger her way. Rapanott catches as the score is 10-0 Puddlemere and zooms across the field!"

Oliver tensed. As Rapanott was closing in on the scoring area Oliver yelled, "OI! DOES THIS TEAM HAVE BEATERS OR WHAT?" just as Scovil sent one over; it flew true and got Rapanott, who wasn't expecting it, in the shoulder. She dropped the Quaffle and Oliver relaxed as Roger caught it.

"And Davies passes to Bell, passes to Davies, to Bell, to Johnson, to Davies – and Ivarone intercepts it in flight, the sneaky little bugger! Why, I bet your mother was a-"

"LEE!" Katie cut him off, as she was nearest the box. "Shut it with the insults and comment on the damn Porskoff Ploy O'Brien caught!"

"Right, er, sorry folks, so, after Rapanott catches it from O'Brien, she passes it to Ivarone, who dodges a mighty fine Bludger hit by Hatcher! Ivarone enters the scoring area, goes for the right hoop, shoots for the left – and Wood knocks it away with his fingertips! Ha, take _that_ you drunk Irish scum!"

Wood slapped his forehead. Angelina, rolling her eyes, caught the Quaffle. "He'll never learn, eh?" she called up to Oliver. Oliver smiled a wry smile in return before bellowing, "GET YOUR ARSE ON THE OTHER END OF THE FIELD, JOHNSON!"

"Looks like Wood's wood is the prominent personality today, eh folks? Not even ten minutes in and already mentioning his Chaser's _fit_ bum – "

"LEE!" Roger bellowed as he caught the Quaffle from Katie.

"And Bell passes to Johnson, passes to Bell, to Johnson – drops it – no! Davies catches it! Wow, the players are fond of Porskoff Ploys today, aren't they? Davies enters the scoring area, shoots for the right hoop – Pannhoff catches it though. Damn! The score is still 10-0, Puddlemere. Pannhoff lobs it to Ivarone outside the scoring area, who catches it, dodges a Bludger, passes it to Rapanott, passes to Ivarone, to Rapanott, to O'Brien, who takes the center of a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, Rapanott on the left, Ivarone to the right – and it's split apart as Scovil sends a Bludger into their midsts, but O'Brien's still got the Quaffle, damn him, he's like a giant muscle, do you see those biceps? I've been reading about this Muggle invention, steroids, you see, and Muggle athletes aren't supposed to use 'em because it's like cheating, you see? But they do, all the time, and some make you unnaturally buff, like O'Brien over there, why isn't he a Beater? Anyways, I've also heard they shrink your bullocks, so for your sake, O'Brien, I hope yours are doing well, nice and large – "

Lee dodged the Bludger Quigley and Etkin sent his way. Unperturbed, Lee continued. " – and Quigley and Etkin aim a Doppleganger Defence at _little __old __me_, can you believe it? I get it, you guys, no need to send a Bludger my way, Merlin, even the Slytherins were better sports than that… " Lee quickly changed course as Quigley posed his bat threateningly. "Okay, okay, _fine!_ Bell, passes to Davies, passes to Bell, about to pass to Johnson but changes course to Davies as Johnson rolls to avoid a Bludger from Etkin. Ivarone is zooming in on Davies but Davies passes it off to Bell, she enters the scoring area, shoots for the left hoop, SCORES! And the score is 20-0, Puddlemere, as Bell catches the Quaffle again, goes for it in the center hoop, but Pannhoff is ready and deflects it with a lackadaisical swat of her hand. Oh, how _regal,_you Irish who – "

"LEE!" Katie bellowed yet again. Oliver couldn't help but be mad, as well, however. Pannhoff could've easily caught that. It was always better to catch a ball and pass it off to your Chasers than to let it drop.

As Katie was showing her by catching the ball _yet__again,_dodging a Bludger and quickly depositing the Quaffle in the corner of the right hoop. Oliver couldn't help but feel smug as Lee yelled, " – and the score is 30-0, Puddlemere, so HA!"

* * *

Oliver was not feeling smug _three __hours__ later,_ as the score was 50-40, Bats, and his Seeker had yet to sight the Snitch. He quickly signaled to the ref for a timeout as Pannhoff blocked another goal.

"BREAK!" the ref called, and Puddlemere's players quickly zoomed to the ground by their team's goalposts. Pannhoff lobbed the Quaffle over to the ref, who caught it and descended, no doubt in desperate need of a piss.

Oliver needed to piss. But that could wait.

"Bloody hell, Leah, have you even _seen _the Snitch yet?"

"No, but neither has Elmann!" she defended.

"You've been bloody _chatting _with the opposing Seeker when you're supposed to be _seeking?_"

"Oliver, it's different for Seekers. We spend the whole game, pretty much, above the goalposts. We can hardly even hear the commentary."

"I bloody well know what a Seeker does. So?"

"So what? We end up chatting."

"Look, this is _Quidditch,_ not the bloody ice cream social, so just stuff it and _look __for __the __damn__ Snitch._ You had no trouble finding it in practise yesterday!"

"Bloody hell, I'm _trying_ Oliver!"

"Try harder!" Oliver rounded on his Chasers. "Well, did I train you on how to do a Parkin's Pincer or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, Oliver, O'Brien's a bloody Snitch, though. Which is surprising, considering how _solid_ he is. We're trying!" Katie insisted.

"TRY HARDER!" Oliver bellowed, his favourite two-word pep talk. "Hatcher, don't think I haven't seen you just _itching_ to try a Transylvanian Tackle. _Do__ not__ do __it,_ or I swear I'll…"


	4. Everybody Just Won't Stop Fighting

"Well, this is turning out to be quite the match, don't you think?" Ginny asked, plopping down between Harry and Luna.

"Oh yes," Luna murmured. "These Seekers usually do so well. Not a wonder, though, as it's the Wrackspurts' mating season." Those in the box couldn't help but chuckle at Luna's familiar wisdom.

"Why do you always do that?" Ginny demanded of Harry.

"Er, sorry?"

"You always laugh at her theories! She was the only one who believed you about Thestrals, couldn't you afford her some of the same respect?"

"Really, Ginny, it's fine," Luna demurred as Rita Skeeter's quick quotes quill furiously took notes in the background.

"No, it's _not fine__!_" Ginny shouted, standing up. "I can't believe you'd laugh at your friends like that, Harry! Why d'you never take your friends seriously?"

"Ginny, calm down," Hermione said, shocked. "Harry didn't-"

"I will NOT calm down!" Ginny screamed. "APOLOGISE, HARRY!"

Harry turned, shaking, to Luna. "I – I'm sorry I don't take your theories seriously, Luna. R – really, I d – don't mean to hurt your feelings. I should be more open-minded, I know-"

"Harry, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione interjected. "Obviously, Ginny has something to say, and is avoiding saying it!"

"Oh Hermione, you've always been so narrow-minded." Luna heaved a woeful sigh. "But I've learned to expect that, from all of you. If Harry and Ginny have decided to broaden their horizons, however, you shouldn't limit them."

"_Limit them__?_ The last time Harry cracked open a book was when _I_ made him! _I_'ve only tried to open doors for Ron and Harry! I've only tried to _help_ them! Who read the book in first year that led us to Nicholas Flamel? Who read the book in second year that told us about the basilisk? Who read the article that told us who the half-blood prince was? Who helped Harry and Ron study for their Auror's exams? _I did!_"

"Who got pulled into the Chamber of Secrets?" Ginny retorted. "Who _else _helped Harry and Ron study for their Auror's exams? _Me!_ Who had to sit at home while you three hunted Horcruxes, wondering every day if you were safe? _Me!_ Who actually had to live at a Hogwarts run by Death Eaters who took pleasure in performing the Cruciatus Curse on children? _Me_ and _Neville_ and _Luna!_ But you never take _any_ of us seriously!" With that, Ginny grabbed the arms of the reluctant Luna and Neville and marched out of the box.

"Ginny, wait!" Harry yelled, running after her. "Ginny!"

Hermione remained seated, eyes firmly set on the field, and Ron placed his arm around her shoulders.

Puddlemere gained possession of the Quaffle and the game started up again.

_And I, Rita Skeeter, was there to capture it all._

"Bell takes the Quaffle – score's still 50-50, dead even, right now, and we're eight hours in – no, wait, eight-and-a-quarter. Anyways, Kats has the Quaffle and – oh! Did I ever tell you how she got the nickname Kats? Well – she shoots… and misses. Damn Kats, you're off your game! That's okay, though, everyone seems to be, 'cept Wood, but he's a bloody slavedriver with all the energy of the bloody Energizer bunny – oh, wait, you all probably don't know what that is…"

At the moment, Katie was glad Lee was so distracted from the game; Lee's commentary was probably the only thing keeping the crowd in the stadium after upwards of eight hours of increasingly pathetic Quidditch.

Katie caught a glimpse of the box, only to find about half its occupants missing. The match couldn't be _that _lacklustre, could it?

"Oi, Bell, eyes on the ball!" Oliver bellowed.

"My eyes are about to shut, Wood!" Katie retorted. She heard Angelina grunting somewhere to her left, but whether it was in agreement or from the Quaffle she'd just got hit with in the stomach was anyone's guess. "Why can't you just bring on the damn reserves already?"

" – and Ange's got the Quaffle – so, like I was saying, this Energizer bunny fellow-"

"Because they're not here!"

"WHAT?" Katie bellowed, outraged.

" – Ange shoots for the right hoop and – BLOODY HELL, I haven't seen a feint in four hours!-"

"Well, actually, because Smith isn't!"

" – Apparently, neither has Pannhoff, because Johnson just put one in the left hoop!-"

"What the hell? What's that bloody wanker got to do with anything?" Roger yelled from mid-field. Oliver signaled to the ref.

" – Score is 60-50, Puddlemere!"

"BREAK!" the ref yelled, yet again running off the field faster than a Firebolt.

"Why the hell," Angelina said slowly, dangerously, "is that stupid flake's unreliability a factor in our lack of reprieve after eight nearly-solid hours of Quidditch?"

"Even the Bats put in a couple reserves!" Roger practically whined.

Oliver sighed. "It's Smith's bloody contract. _Every other reserve player is here,_ but Smith has to go in first, unless we're past the twelve-hour mark."

"So the reason we have to play for three-and-a-half more hours unless Morren or Elmann find the bloody Snitch is that some flake without talent somehow got a contract that implies he's a hot commodity?" Jim demanded angrily. Oliver merely sighed, and nodded. "Well how the hell did he even _get _the contract?"

"Ask Bert," Oliver irritably snapped. "It's his story, not mine." They all sank into thought.

"What're the consequences?" Katie suddenly asked.

"What?" Oliver said, snapping back to reality and brushing a beetle off his shoulder.

"_What are the consequences?_ Of breaking Smith's bloody contract?"

"A two thousand-galleon fine to the person who makes the decision." Katie appeared thoughtful.

"So?" she finally asked. "Are you going to get Jim off a broomstick before he murders someone or not?"

"Are you barking?" he yelled.

"C'mon, Kats, that's an _arseload _of money!" Angelina insisted.

"Roger's about to fall off his broom!" Katie countered insistently. "Geoff sprained his wrist two Bludger hits ago! And Jim is about to either ram into Quigley's head or attempt a Transylvanian Tackle!"

"I am _not_ paying two bloody thousand galleons to Smith for one game!"

"What about your players, Ollie?" Katie asked, accidentally slipping in to her old nickname for him. Angelina whipped her head around to look at her. "We don't have your energy, Ollie, we're about to break."

Oliver's face slipped momentarily, before his expression hardened again. As he swung his leg back over his broomstick, he coldly whispered, "Sometimes it's worth the risk, right Katie?" Katie looked ready to tear his throat out at that.

Luckily, she was able to channel that into scoring goals for Puddlemere.

" – and Bell scores _again!_ Bell came back from the break with a _vengeance, _folks! We're nine hours in and the score's 100-60, Puddlemere! It looks like things are picking up! Don't look so worried, Ange, Kats is _on a roll!_"

Ginny could hear Lee's commentary from where she sat, alone (as Neville and Luna had scampered off earlier), but she couldn't see the game. Which was frustrating, but at least Harry hadn't found her.

Until now, that is.

"Ginny," he breathed, confused. "I don't know _what _I did to upset you, but whatever it is, I'm _so, so sorry._ Please, just talk to me!"

"Why?" she snapped pettily. "You've seemed perfectly content to leave things hanging between us all these years. Why now?"

"What d'you mean, _leave things hanging?_"

"I mean _us,_ Harry! What about _us?_"

Sudden comprehension overtook his features as he stepped closer. "Gin-"

"And don't tell me you wanted it to end it for good! I'm not that stupid that you can make me think we meant _nothing!_"

He was beginning to get vaguely annoyed. "_Ginny_-"

"How come you didn't come find me after the Battle, Harry? I know you were hurting, but so were the rest of us!"

"_GINNY!_" Harry shouted, suddenly standing centimetres away from her. _Th__at_ seemed to grab her attention. "Stuff it." And then he closed the distance between them.

When they broke apart, all Ginny could mutter was a confused, "Shmmmf?"

Harry laughed, smiling widely. "After the Battle, I just wanted some time to think. And I did. I came to the conclusion I should take things slowly, just to prove we weren't jumping into things, like so many other people, because of the war. Was I wrong?" he asked lightly, resting his forehead against hers.

She nodded vigorously. "I much rather would've been doing this years ago." And then she closed the distance between them, because really, she was a _Weasley,_ and Weasley women take what they want.

Even if it means that the act gets caught on film, as evidenced by the loud flashing noise and accompanying puff of purple smoke that broke the two apart.

"Lovely," Rita grinned. "Can't wait to send this off to the _Prophet!_"


	5. The Twelve Hour Mark

"So, we're eleven hours and fifty-eight minutes in, which not only means almost _three in the bloody morning,_ but we also only have two minutes until we've hit the twelve-hour mark and we can all take a nice, long, two-hour break. Unless Morren or Elmann catch the Snitch." From above the crowd Leah scowled at him. Spotting Roger, Lee continued. "Davies looks like he's about to faint and I don't mean in terms of a Quidditch play! C'mon, Oliver, sub in a bloody Chaser already!"

"Stuff it, Lee!" Angelina yelled, passing the Quaffle to Katie, who entered the scoring area.

"Bell gains possession. She shoots for the right hoop and SCORES! Yes! Score is 120-70, Puddlemere! We've finally hit the twelve hour mark, folks, and Quigley and Wood are both signaling desperately to the ref."

"BREAK!" the ref yelled. "Back on the pitch with seven players in two hours!" He quickly scampered off.

"Locker rooms!" Oliver yelled. The seven Puddlemere players zoomed into the home team locker rooms.

"C'mon Oliver, we need showers! Or sleep, at the least," Angelina insisted. "And why aren't you taking Jim out?"

"You can sleep once you've been subbed out! I can't have any players not making it back onto the pitch once the break's over! And I'm not pulling Jim out because he's still got stamina left; we can't afford to pull players out for anything less than complete exhaustion or injury."

"C'mon, you _know _Jim's going to get fouled if he stays in," Katie cajoled. "Stop being so stubborn."

"Stuff it, Bell!" Oliver shouted. "I _know _what I'm doing! Who's the Captain here? Me! As such, your job is to kindly _shut your gob _and do as I say! I know that's _difficult_ for you-"

"You're not always my Quidditch Captain, Wood! Sometimes you're just someone that thinks they know what's best when _really_-"

"When really it's exactly that! I _do _know, Kats. I _did know!_"

"NO YOU DIDN'T!" she roared. The rest of the team shuffled about awkwardly. "I _TOLD_ YOU I WAS WILLING TO RISK IT!"

"But _I_ wasn't!" he cried. "_I_ wasn't, Kats! _I_ wanted the two of you _safe!_ But - but it _died _that night."

"She," Katie whispered, staring at him intently. "_She _died that night, Ollie. And it wasn't your decision to make." The team looked on, bewildered, as the two stared each other down; Oliver broke and turned away from her, fists clenching.

"But you didn't even think about it! You just _jumped to a decision,_ not even bothering to ask me!"

"Oh, Merlin forbid I _forget to consult Oliver Wood!_" She stomped towards his back, and yanked his arm so he turned to face her once again. "And d'you_ really think _I didn't agonise over the decision for as long as I could?" Her eyes were watering, and she swiped them furiously. "It hurt _me _too, Ollie! Did you ever think about _me?_"

Oliver blinked. "You… you didn't _want_ to lose it... I mean, _her?_"

"Of course not, you prat!" Katie had given up on hiding the tears.

"Sorry to butt-in, but who is 'She'?" Angelina asked. Katie promptly started sobbing, falling into Oliver's arms; he sent Angelina a glare as he pulled Katie in close.

"OUT!" Oliver roared. "EVERYBODY GET OUT OF THE BLOODY LOCKER ROOM!" As he and Katie collapsed on the bench, he added, half-heartedly, "Be back on the pitch in an hour-and-a-half!" The Beaters and Seeker quickly ran out of the locker room doors, but Angelina and Roger remained. "Go get Hazelrigg and Grengs," Oliver said to Roger. Roger gave a small nod before walking out the door, shooting Angelina a loaded look over his shoulder.

"Kats," Angelina said, reaching out to touch Katie's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"She _died!_" Katie wailed, Oliver rubbing her back.

"Who died, Katie?" Angelina asked softly. Katie buried her face into his chest. Angelina noticed, with astonishment, that Oliver was, for the second time in two days, crying. "Oliver?" she gently prodded.

"E – Ella, right?" Oliver forced out, speaking to Katie. "We said a girl would be Ella?"

"Ella," Katie managed to confirm between sobs. "Oh, _why_?"

"If it was a girl?" Angelina asked, still confused. "If what was a girl?"

"My baby!" Katie wailed. Astonished, Angelina wrapped an arm around each of her friends and held them tight.

All three were so saddened they didn't hear or see the camera go off.

_Privacy, my dear readers, is not one of my strong suits…_

A half an hour later, Angelina trooped up to the box and sat down next to George. Noticing the distraught expression on her face, George squeezed her hand gently as she had done for him after the Battle. "You want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Not where Skeeter can hear," she mumbled.

"She's downstairs somewhere, searching for Ginny, Luna, Neville and Harry. Quite the row earlier, sorry you missed it."

"Yeah, well, the team got to see quite the row earlier anyways," Angelina said. "Or actually, I should say we've gotten to see quite the _rows _that were all leading up to this one absolutely _horrid_ quarrel." George blinked; Angelina sighed. "Katie and Oliver."

"Katie and Oliver have been fighting? Since when?" George had always remembered the two as being relatively close – or at least, as close as Oliver got to anything that wasn't Quidditch.

"Since right before the Battle, apparently." Angelina winced, realising that this was probably a painful subject for George. "Sorry."

"No, no," he said, forcing a smile. "S'alright. Go on. I thought those two were still keeping in touch, that he helped her get a spot on Puddlemere after she graduated Hogwarts."

"He did," Angelina grunted. "And me and Roger. Gave us all glowing praise."

"Why were they fighting again?"

"Well, apparently, he and Katie were friendlier than they let on. Katie was pregnant."

"Oh."

"Until the Battle."

"_Oh!_"

"Yep," Angelina said, popping the _p_. "Katie Bell, one of our closest friends was pregnant with the baby of _Oliver Wood_, another of our closest friends. And they both knew. And she knew that it was a girl. And that she might lose it in the Battle. And he knew it too. And they've been fighting over it for _two freaking years_. And now they're both crying in the locker room."

"Well," said George. "Just, _wow._"

"Say," Angelina said, sitting up swiftly. "Where is everybody? And why is Hermione all huffy? And why does Ron look scared?"

"Told you, you missed quite the row earlier."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Luna was talking about Wrackspurts – "

"What now?"

"Don't ask. So, anyways, Luna was talking about Wrackspurts, and everyone kind of chuckled, y'know, 'cause it's Luna, and Ginny just, I dunno, got a bit pissed at us all. She started laying into Harry, saying he treats his friends badly, doesn't respect them, like, and Harry turns real quick to Luna and apologises, just like Ginny demanded, but then Hermione pipes up, tells him to quit it. Then _Hermione _starts laying into _Ginny_, Luna admonished Hermione, and Hermione lays into _Luna,_ can you believe it? Then Ginny lays into Hermione and storms off, grabbing Luna and Neville as she goes, and Harry goes running after them and we still haven't seen any of them since."

"Oh."

"Yep."

"So, what was it all about?"

"I dunno, some crap about respect and who's done more."

"Well," Angelina said. She appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then stood up and walked over to Ron and Hermione. She slapped both of their heads.

"OI!" Ron shouted as Hermione huffed, "Well, _I never…_"

"Your friend," Angelina said to Hermione, "was very obviously in great distress. And you didn't do anything to fix it. You just made the situation far worse for your _other_ friend, who was practically groveling by the sound of it. And _you_," she spat, turning to Ron. "_You _are even _worse!_ Your _best friend _was in distress, and you just sat there and did nothing. And the person who was causing the distress was your _sister!_ You should've been in there, trying to sort this all out." She glared at them. "You _both _needed to be the voices of reason."

The two appeared properly repentant.

"Now Ron, snog your lady-friend – don't give me that look, we all know you two've been dating for the past two years – snog her and make her relax, because if Ginny comes back into this box, you need to make sure you both can be calm and rational human beings, because I won't be here in" – she checked her watch – "an hour."

Ron shrugged and complied. _Ah, Ron, such a simple creature…_

"Alright, well," George said as she plopped down next to him. "Now that you've seemingly made anything better, how would you like to talk about the match with Alicia and I? We're just _dying _to know what goes on in the air…"

Oliver and Katie sat in silence, still holding each other tightly. Katie's tears had dried and so had Oliver's, but neither was feeling very talkative, even with fifteen minutes to go before the break was over.

Angelina barged in then, looking decidedly calmer and more refreshed than she had an hour and fifteen minutes ago. "Right, so, I don't care if you both are completely exhausted, this team needs our Captain and second-best Chaser."

Katie withdrew from Oliver and quirked a small smile. "Second-best?" she asked, mock-offended. "Since when'm I second-best?"

"Since _I _got on the team, darling," Angelina said. Her smile dropped for a moment. "But seriously, the team is out there, waiting for some direction from their _Captain_. D'you guys think you can pull it together for the match?"

Oliver slowly nodded as Katie stood up and stretched. "Let's see if we can't make it another twelve hours, shall we?" she asked cheerily.

"That's the spirit!" Angelina exclaimed. "But if Oliver doesn't have everyone out by another six, I'm going to curse his bullocks off," Angelina promised good-naturedly. Katie smiled as they started to walk out onto the pitch, brooms in hand.

"Oliver, Katie!" Leah exclaimed nervously as they approached. "Er, doing well then? Not killing each other on the field? Anyone else getting out?"

"Yes, yes and Jim's staying," Oliver replied. Jim shrugged. "But if I see you try _one _Transylvanian Tackle…"

"Yes, yes," Jim said. "I know."

"Good," Oliver nodded. "Now, let's see that everyone's here; Hazelrigg, go talk with Johnson and Bell. Decide who's going to be default for formations and make sure you all remember the signals." Demarcus, Katie and Angelina quickly started conversing. "Grengs, good, keep Scovil from doing anything stupid."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Delsie, a muggleborn with an unusual obsession with Pirates, replied. She playfully started jabbing her finger into Scovil's chest, admonishing him. He grinned.

"Alright, and Leah?"

"Yes?" she asked wearily, expecting more criticism.

"Quigley's putting in his reserve seeker. So try your Wronski feint. A rookie like Delman is _far _more likely to fall for it."

She grinned.

"Alright!" the ref yelled, running back out onto the field, Quaffle under his arm. "Players, mount your brooms! Now ready, and, _go!_"

As one, fourteen players launched into the air, followed closely by the ref, who lobbed the Quaffle straight up into the waiting arms of a viciously grinning Katie Bell.

"_And, they're off!..._"


End file.
